


The Scarf

by Joy_Pedler



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Isaac Feels, Isaac-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:37:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2463623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joy_Pedler/pseuds/Joy_Pedler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac goes shopping and, for the first time in months, encounters a glimpse of kindness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scarf

Isaac adjusts his scarf to cover the bruise on his collar.

It’s not his favourite; an ugly green plaid that doesn’t match anything else he’s wearing, but it’s the only one thin enough to actually cover the bruise without making him look like an idiot in the summer heat.

Normally he wouldn’t have to cover them up, but his father had managed to aim the frying pan very accurately, and got him right on the collar; too high for the necklines of any of his shirts, and that his father told him to go get the groceries means that he has to look normal, has to seem okay, even if he’s not. Because if the police come around asking questions one more time he swears to god-

But it won’t help to think about that now. Now he has to remember what they need, what needs restocking, what’s missing from the fridge?

The supermarket doors slide open as he steps up to them, and he pulls the scarf tighter as he goes into the air-conditioned space.

It doesn’t take long for him to find all the small items his father needs; bananas, cereal, some packaged chips, and so he finds himself standing in line at the checkout with his basket, waiting behind three old ladies who all seem to be taking forever to sift through their purses to find the right change.

When he reaches the checkout he starts pulling out his items automatically and placing them on the table. It’s when he spots a flash of neon green nail polish that he actually looks at the person scanning his items.

She’s his age, but he hasn’t seen her at school, and her hair is a dirty blonde and half her head is shaved. She’s got metal all over her ears, though none on her face, and she wears stacks of rings on her fingers and bracelets on her wrists. She notices him looking and smiles kindly at him as she scans his things.

“Bit hot for a scarf isn’t it?” she asks sweetly as she scans the chips and puts them gently in a bag. Isaac smiles nervously, and clears his throat as he pulls his wallet from his pocket, and waits for her to finish putting all his things in a plastic bag.

“That’s thirty dollars and fifty nine cents,” she says with a smile, and Isaac smiles nervously as he pulls the money from his wallet. He hands her two twenties and she turns to the cash register to get his change. She hands him forty cents, which he fumbles with, because his wallet doesn’t have a pocket for coins, and so he settles for stuffing them into his pocket.

As he raises his shoulder to put the coins into his pocket he feels the scarf slip down, away from his collar, and he panics.

The coins go flying to the ground as he scrambles to cover his collar and drop to the floor to gather the coins at the same time. The girl steps out from behind the counter and gets down on the floor to help, though Isaac winces at this gesture.

“It’s fine, really, I’ve got it,” he quickly says, but the girl doesn’t leave, and fishes out the coins from the strangest of places.

They both stand at the same time, and as the girl holds out the coins to Isaac her eye immediately goes to the bruise.

Her eyes soften and her heart breaks, and Isaac hates watching it happen, because she sees it and knows what it is, and she turns her gaze from it to his eyes. In hers he sees such concern, such worry, not pity, but he hates it anyway, hates that he’s made her see this, and hates that he messed this up.

She looks like she wants to say something, to offer him something, but someone coughs, and they’re both reminded that there are people in line behind him.

So he pulls his scarf tighter, concealing the bruise, and takes the coins from her.

“Thanks,” he says, trying to be normal, and he takes his bags and leaves without another word. The doors open and close, he steps out into the hot air, and he doesn’t look back.

He knows the girl will hesitate only a moment longer, and then she’ll move back behind the counter and have to keep going through the people in line that want to check their things out.

He hears the doors open and close again, but thinks nothing of it.

“Hey! Wait!”

He turns around at the sound of her voice, and swallows his surprise. People don’t like the things they find out about him, and they usually fight this by ignoring it. But she’s running up to him; dirty blonde hair wilting out in the sun and heat.

She comes up to him, and wears a look of friendly concern.

“If you, you know, wanted to talk,” she holds out a slip of paper to him. He can see even from here that it’s a phone number. “I’m happy to listen.”

He takes the paper with a stiff nod, and doesn’t know if he should smile.

She shifts on her feet and glances nervously back at the supermarket.

“I have to go back, are you, are you gonna be okay?” she asks softly, and for the first time in a long time Isaac thinks his heart warms just a little bit.

He nods, and she relaxes a little.

“Okay, well, just, call if you need to talk,” she finishes, and turns and walks back to the doors. He waits till she’s out of sight before he looks at the piece of paper.

_Iris_ , and then a string of numbers. He looks, not at the numbers, but the name, the writing. It’s in purple ink, and her writing is very rounded, very neat.

He looks at it for a moment longer, and then with a glance back at the supermarket to make sure she’s not watching, he crumples it in his hand and drops it into a trashcan he passes as he goes to the sidewalk.

Truth is he wants to talk, so badly. But he can’t talk to anyone.

He waits at the bus stop, and has to force himself to stay still, restrain himself from running back to the trashcan and pulling out that small scrap of paper.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was just me thinking about Isaac and writing something that made me sad.


End file.
